


Phil Coulson Wasn't Grown in a Lab (He Has a Mom)

by scifigrl47



Series: Phil Coulson's Case Files of the Toasterverse [13]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Family Issues, Fluff, Gen, Humor, M/M, Relationship Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2017-12-31 09:46:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scifigrl47/pseuds/scifigrl47
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the Avengers meet Phil's family for the first time in the Toasterverse.  This time, for once, it's Fury's fault, and not Clint's.</p><p>Clint feels vindicated by this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This one has been in process for a long time, and I'm working on getting it finished. For now, however, have the first chapter. It is full of fluff, and falls before both "Phil Coulson Isn't the Avengers Matchmaker" as well as "Four (Or Five) Reasons for Kidnapping Tony Stark." This means that Darcy and Jane have not moved in and Tony and Steve are still pining.
> 
> The events of this story tie heavily into "Hollow Your Bones Like a Bird's." It is not necessary to read that piece to understand this one, but some of the writing here will spoil that particular piece. Read at your own risk/choice. 8)

Tony Stark did his best to keep his eyes open. Really. He did. Which was more than he could say for Thor, who had no compunctions about just folding his arms on the table, burying his head in them, and dropping straight off to sleep. Everyone ignored that fact, despite the snoring, because debriefings that did not involve Thor were usually faster, more efficient and a lot less painful.

It was not fair, as far as Tony was concerned, that he had to stay awake and Thor could be lolling around, head down and possibly drooling when he wasn't actively snoring. 

Of course, he was ninety percent certain that Clint Barton was also asleep, just with his eyes open, because he hadn't seen the man blink in like the last fifteen minutes, and he'd been watching. Watching carefully.

And yes, maybe he should stop staring at Barton, because really, to everyone else, that must be creepy.

Tony went back to pretending that he gave a damn about what Fury was talking about. He did not. Oh, God, he did not, because it all boiled down to the fact that none of them had died, human casualties were extremely limited, and had tapered off almost completely once they'd shown up, thank you very much, and Tony really did not care about property damage. Property damage could go screw itself, he was completely unconcerned with property damage.

These little lectures on Fury's part just made him want to blow shit up, and that would just compound the problem.

Phil Coulson slipped through the door, drawing the attention of everyone who wasn't asleep, including Clint, so that put paid to Tony's theory, or maybe, because of their relationship, Hawkeye had a Coulson early warning system of some sort. That would be nice. Tony hated it when Coulson snuck upon him, and the guy was a freakin' ninja, really, he just appeared, perfectly pressed suit and shined shoes and that little half smile that always translated to 'I know what you're up to, Stark, and my taser has a fresh charge. Don't push me.'

Today, after thirty-six hours of no sleep, limited rest, three consecutive disasters and a trip to medical, even Phil was looking a bit rough. His jacket was gone, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his left arm in a sling and there was a pretty impressive tear down his right leg. Underneath, a hint of a white bandage could be seen, and Tony was pretty sure it was blood-stained.

Still, he glanced around the table, eyes checking on each one of them, even as he moved forward. Silently, he put an envelope down in front of Fury and took a step back from the table.

Without even pausing in his explanation of why letting buildings go squish was bad, Fury reached inside his coat, pulled out a lighter, picked up the envelope, and lit it on fire.

Tony blinked. He glanced to the side, and Steve was looking back at him. As one, they both shrugged, and looked back at Fury, who was dropping the charred remains into a nearby ashtray. Clint choked on a snort of what was probably laughter. Natasha sighed, low and breathy, a little amused and a little disdainful.

Coulson reached inside his sling and pulled out another envelope, sliding it across the tabletop towards Fury with one precise finger. Fury lit that one on fire, too. He was still talking about collateral damage to the UN building, and no one, absolutely no one, cared. Natasha was just shaking her head, and Clint was smirking and Thor was snoring, and Bruce had propped his chin on one fist, his eyes narrowed at the spectacle of charred paper ash floating through the air.

After the fifth envelope went up in flames and Tony was starting to wonder just how much stationary that Coulson had jammed into his sling, Steve interrupted Fury with a tense, “I'm sorry, sir, but this is a little distracting. What, exactly, is going on here?”

“It's the 'Coulson is resigning and Fury is declining to accept said resignation' dance,” Clint said, arms folded across his chest. “It plays out a little differently every time, but still. It's a beautiful piece of choreography, isn't it?”

Tony straightened up in his chair. “Resigning?”

“Don't get your hopes up, Stark,” Fury said, shaking the most recent envelope to encourage it to burn faster. They were now chain burning resignations, Coulson providing the newest before the previous one even finished burning, so Fury was lighting one off the previous one. “Agent Coulson likes to forget that he's got a lifetime contract with SHIELD.”

“That is because contracts that you convince agents to sign while drunk at the Agency Holiday party are not actually legally binding,” Phil said, “no matter what the legal team likes to think. Just because you put it on SHIELD letterhead, if it reads more like something signed at the crossroads of a country road at midnight after a battle for a golden fiddle, it is not going to hold up in court.”

“We haven't tested that theory yet.” Fury grinned. “You want to be the first one?”

“Director, it includes a clause that extends my term of service to, and I quote, 'beyond the grave.' It's not going to hold up in court.”

“It might. You've died a shitload of times. That we know of. And you're still on the job.”

“Just because there's a precedent does not automatically translate to legal acceptance,” Coulson told him, handing over another envelope. Fury was now making a manic sounding chuckling noise as he destroyed them. It was more than a little disturbing.

“You signed this?” Bruce asked, horrified.

“The eggnog that year was especially potent, you have no idea,” Phil said on a sigh.

“Why are you resigning?” Steve asked, and he sounded genuinely concerned, actually worried. “If it was something the team did-”

“Hey, now,” Tony interrupted. “Hey. Now. The team is blameless here, it is not our fault that the whole thing was a disaster from mission one straight on through to mission three, and I think I need to look at my contract, because I logged more hours in the armor in the last two days than the FAA allows commercial pilots to fly in a week, and they don't have access to missiles.”

“Why do we allow you access to missiles?” Natasha asked him, her lips holding a faint bow curl of a smile.

“Because I know how to make them, and thus, it's very difficult to keep me from having them,” Tony told her. “Never the less, I would like to point out that if he gets to quit, so do I.”

“You're not helping, Stark,” Coulson said.

“You really think you're going to get any support for quitting from this group?” Clint asked, his teeth flashing in a feral grin. “Really? You're delusional, sir.”

Steve leaned forward. “Coulson, why are you resigning?” he asked, because, yes, he was the only one at this table who thought that Coulson might actually walk out of here a free man, because he was adorably naïve about some things and the rest of them were much more used to Fury doing whatever he wanted to get his way. 

“Because,” Coulson said, leaning his one good hand on the table, looming over the seated Fury, who didn't look the least bit concerned, “the Director and I had one agreement. That I would take the job as the Avengers' handler provided that I stayed off the radar.”

“This is true. And we've upheld that,” Fury said.

“Sir, I ended up on CNN today.”

“Also true,” Fury said, his one eye narrowed as he turned the envelope in his hand, letting the flames lick along the edges. “C'mon, Phil, you had to know that was going to happen eventually. I don't see what the big deal is, it's not like they released your name.”

“You let the live feed go out. You outed me, sir. You outed me on live CNN. I was outed by you and CNN while being carried by Iron Man.”

“Princess style, let's not forget that,” Clint said, ever helpful. “But you were carrying a flame thrower, so maybe not Disney Princess style. A little more Miyazaki Princess. It's a really unique coming out story. One of a kind.”

“Excuse me, let's not involve me in this,” Tony said. “I am not comfortable with being part of anyone's outing, and wait a minute, no. No, you were not outed, outed to who, I'm sorry, it's been a long couple of days here, and what the hell are you talking about?”

“My family didn't know,” Phil said.

“Your family didn't know-” Bruce paused, blinking. “I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but what didn't they know?”

“Did they not know you are gay?” Tony asked, because he didn't have a filter on the best of days, and this had not been the best of days. “Because that slipped by me. Of course, you lied about a cellist. A lady cellist. In Portland.” He looked at Clint. “You are not a lady cellist in Portland.” 

“Nope,” Clint agreed.

'So what the hell. But that does not explain why I'm involved in outing you, in that I'm not. Involved. In anything that could be defined as an outing.”

“My family knows about my orientation,” Phil said, looking pained. He looked that way around Tony a lot. “However, my family didn't know I worked for SHIELD,” Phil said. “And since there was just live footage of me and a flamethrower being dropped into a pack of Doombots by Iron Man to come to the aid of Captain America-”

“Thank you for that, by the way,” Steve said, ever polite.

“You're welcome,” Phil said as an aside before continuing, “They may have figured out that I was lying about my chosen profession.”

“What did they think you did?” Natasha asked.

He sighed. “I told them I am an accountant.”

“And they believed that?” Tony burst out. “Your family is a bunch of morons.” Everyone at the table turned a stony glance in his direction, and Tony shrugged. “I call it like I see it. Weren't you Special Forces before you joined SHIELD?”

“Army Ranger, yes,” Coulson said, handing over another envelope. It met the same fate as the others, but Fury seemed to draw this one out, slowly torturing the stationary.

“And they thought you retired from the military, from one of the most exclusive military special forces teams in the world, to become an accountant. Do you specialize in tax prep? Because that would just be amusing.” Tony propped his chin on one hand. “How do you explain the injuries?”

“I don't go home that often. The average knife wound or acid burn doesn't translate in a phone conversation.”

“I am having trouble with this, with you going home at all.” Tony's eyes narrowed. “I am having trouble with the family concept. You-” He pointed at Coulson, considering. “You have a family.”

“Despite SHIELD rumors, I was not grown in a lab, Stark. I have a family.”

“I am trying to have a debriefing here,” Fury said. “One that you should be running, by the way, so either sit your ass down, Agent, or go back to medical.”

“I resign, sir, so you're on your own.” Coulson pulled out a larger folder, and Tony had no idea how this was all coming out of the sling, really, he did not. “Here are the cheat sheets my replacement will need.”

“I will have you thrown in a brig if you continue to spout mutiny, Coulson.”

“If I ever decide to go that route, sir, it wouldn't be a mutiny, it would be a coup d' tat.” Phil seemed unconcerned.

“Agent, you are pushing your luck.”

“How does he explain you?” Tony asked Clint. “Are you Clint from the legal department? Or did he meet you at a Lions Club meeting? Or, I don't know, an Accountant convention, oh, God, just saying those words aloud and I felt a piece of my soul die, there was actual pain involved with the idea of thousands of drunk accountants sitting around discussing advancements in ledger paper-”

“Do you have any sort of filter what so ever?” Natasha asked him.

“I was just thinking about that, and the answer is no. Not at all, that'd be boring and I'd have to care. I am not boring, and I do not care.” 

“Tony-” Bruce started.

“Now, the important thing is to make sure that you monitor their sleep patterns,” Coulson was saying to Fury, who was clicking his lighter in a threatening manner. “I'd say to monitor their eating habits, but that will drive my replacement to tears in a matter of days, so that should be avoided, I just throw Power Bars at them and pretend not to see anything else they choose to consume-”

“Phil, I wish you'd give us a chance to make this right,” Steve said.

“No, really, how does he explain you?” Tony asked Clint.

“I've never met them,” Clint said, with a faint smile. “So that's not a problem.”

The room went silent. Natasha leveled a look at Tony that was so brutal, so threatening, that he immediately brought up his hands, but damn, no repulsors, he was going to die, he was going to die ugly at a SHIELD meeting table, that was humiliating. 

Wait, on second thought, why was Natasha mad at HIM?

“Wait,” he said aloud. “Why are you pissed at me?” He looked at Coulson, who was staring at Clint with an unreadable expression. “You've been together for YEARS, and he's never met your family? Even Pepper introduced me to her parents, and I am the worst possible person she could've brought home for Thanksgiving, I mean, really, that was horrible for everyone involved.”

And just like that, all of the Avengers were glaring at Phil, who gave them all a flat, unimpressed glare. “Yeah, actually, that's not cool,” Fury said, and it was impossible to tell if he believed that, or if he was just giving Phil a hard time to distract him from the whole 'resignation' thing.

“It's not my fault you haven't met my parents,” Coulson bit out, his good hand landing hard on the tabletop as he glared at Clint. “You would've met them by now, but every time I bring it up, you change the subject.”

Clint crossed his arms. “I change the subject because there is no way that you're going to introduce me to your family, and I can live with that, but I don't like it being rubbed in my face.”

“What are you-” Coulson's phone buzzed in his pocket, and he fished it out, checking the text. “Let's put that to the test. My parents will be in New York in three hours. My mother says that she's, and I quote, 'so looking forward to meeting everyone, especially Clint.'” He held the phone out in Clint's direction. “And, as it turns out, I did tell them we worked together.”

Clint was blinking at the screen, confusion all over his face. “Am I in the legal department?”

“No. International troubleshooter, which explained why you were out of town so often.”

“This is an elaborate series of lies,” Tony said, as Clint took the phone, still blinking down at it. 

“Stark-”

He grinned, wide and bright. “Clint, let Phil's parents know that we'll send a car for them.”

“Stark,” Coulson said, his voice threatening.

“Actually,” Steve said, because he was always the voice of reason, “it would be best if they stayed in Stark Tower. For security reasons alone...”

“Who wants to meet Phil's parents?” Tony asked, grinning. Around the table, everyone raised a hand. Clint raised both. Bruce, looking abashed that his hand was up, leaned over and poked Thor in the shoulder.

Thor's head snapped up. He glanced around, eyes blurry, hair a mess. He took in the pile of ashes in front of Fury. The fact that everyone, including Fury, had their hand up. Shrugging, he raised one of his hands. “What has happened?” he whispered to Bruce. Being that it was Thor, the whisper was loud enough to be heard two or three floors away.

“Phil told his parents he was an accountant, and now they know that he's actually a government agent who works with the Avengers, and they're on their way to New York,” Bruce said, in a normal tone of voice.

“Oh, for Pete's sake,” Coulson said, “Clint, put your hands down.”

“I'd raise my feet if I could do it without falling out of my chair,” Clint said, looking a little pissed and a lot confused and Clint did not like being confused, it always made him more pissed.

“An accountant! A noble calling,” Thor said, standing to slap Phil on the back. “What is this accountant?” he asked Steve without missing a beat.

“It's a book keeper,” Steve said. Thor just kept a bright, broad grin on his face, no spark of recognition in his eyes. “Um, someone who keeps track of ledgers?”

“It's a person who adds up long rows of numbers and makes sure they all equal out,” Tony said, bluntly. “They use red ink as well as black ink.”

Thor burst out laughing. “Surely you jest! A warrior such as you? Never would I believe such a thing, does your family not know you at all, or are they naught but fools?”

“See, that's what I said, why is it cute when Thor says it and socially inept when I say it?” Tony asked the room at large.

“Because he has a vocabulary above that of a seventh grader,” Natasha said.

“Fine, but since Phil's parents are going to be here in three hours, can those of us who aren't Thor get a nap first?” Tony asked, not bothering to argue the point. There really wasn't any point.

He never won.

*

“I really don't want to talk about this right now,” Clint said, leaning against the wall next to the baggage carousal. 

“I don't see as how you think we're not going to talk about this,” Coulson gritted out. “Before we're trapped in a car with my parents. In New York traffic.”

Clint shrugged. “Not the most awkward car ride we've ever shared,” he said, a ghost of his usual cocky grin floating across his face.

Phil paused. “Adelaide, or Krakow?” he asked. 

“Denver,” Clint said, emphatic.

Phil winced. “Oh, God, yes. Denver. Definitely Denver.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I'd repressed Denver.”

“You can repress it. You got to keep your pants.” Clint shuddered.

“Still, this is going to be top five, unless we discuss things before my parents show up,” Phil said. He crossed his arms over his chest, falling back into his usual stable posture. “What the hell, Clint?”

“What the hell, Phil?” Clint shot back. 

“Why didn't you say you wanted to meet my parents?” Phil said, blunt about it, because it looked like both of them tiptoeing around the issue for the last couple of years had been an absolute disaster.

“Why didn't you invite me?”

“I tried. I'd start talking about going home for Christmas, or Thanksgiving, or my Grandfather's birthday, and you'd immediately change the subject,” Phil said. 

“I didn't think you were inviting me!” Clint scuffed the bottom of one boot hard on the polished floor of the arrival terminal. He looked, for all the world, like a little boy kicking the dirt. It shouldn't have been endearing, but it was. “I thought you were just, you know, telling me, giving me an update about your plans, and I don't want to resent it, but yeah, I kind of do, so sue me.”

“That's what I don't get,” Phil said. He sounded sharp, even to his own ears, and made a deliberate effort to rein that in. Clint was the only person he'd ever known who could reduce his control to rubble in a matter of MINUTES. The man was infuriating and frustrating and terrifying. Phil was pretty sure he didn't care. He was actually pretty sure it was a turn-on. “Did you think I hadn't told my family about you?”

Clint shrugged. “You're a private person. And it's not like I'm-”

“I swear to God,” Phil said, his voice cutting through with a tone he usually reserved for ops gone completely pear shaped, Tony's more insubordinate inventions, and Darcy, “if you say anything along the lines of, 'I'm not the sort of person you bring home to meet the family,' I will not be responsible for my actions.” Clint fell silent, and Phil nearly lost it. “I am so pissed right now,” he gritted out.

Clint shrugged, his shoulders in tight against his body, his head angled away. A muscle was twitching in his jaw, and his eyes flickered across the busy terminal, looking at everything and everyone except Phil. Beneath his gray hoodie sweatshirt, his body was hunched in on itself. “Sorry-”

“Not at you,” Phil snapped. With a force of will, he relaxed enough to rub his forehead. “I thought you were putting me off because going to hang out at someone else's family reunion is insanely boring,” he said, trying to be as clear as possible. “Hanging out with someone's always drunk Uncle Ralph, and I have three nieces and nephews and they're all loud and they all expect presents every time I go home because I spoil them rotten, and everyone is always in everyone else's business and it's impossible to remember everyone's names-”

“Your father's name is Jason. Your mother's name is Shirley. Your sisters are Jessica and Pam,” Clint said. “One niece, Mary Margaret, and two nephews, Bradley and Sam.” He gave Coulson a faint smile. “I do listen. You know, sometimes.”

“I know you do,” Phil said, frustrated. “Which is more than could be said of me.” He glanced up at the arrivals board, making sure everything was on time. They had about five minutes, the plane would've just landed. Knowing his parents, they'd be down here soon. “We don't talk very much about our relationship-”

“Because we're both shitty at it?” Clint said, with a tight smile.

“It's not our specialty, no.” Phil flicked a glance in his direction. Watched the plane of his right hand, because Clint could hold his face still, but his fingers told the story of his mental state with every flex. He was agitated now, his thumb flicking against the side of his index finger. Phil kept his voice calm and reasonable, trying to counteract that. “I told my family about you about a month after we started dating.”

Clint's lips twitched. “Dating? Is that what we're calling it?”

“Some of the missions were very romantic,” Phil said with a straight face, and Clint started laughing. Phil looked at him, enjoying the view as Clint got himself back under control. “As soon as I was sure it was going to stick-”

“What do you mean, stick?” Clint straightened away from the wall, his brows drawing together. 

Phil gave a one shoulder shrug. “Just making sure you were confident in your decision.”

Clint's eyes narrowed, his head tipped to the side, his right hand tapping against his thigh. “You mean, you were making sure I actually sticking around.”

“No.”

“You thought I was going to, what, sleep with you then dump you?”

Phil sighed. “No.”

“You did!” Clint's jaw dropped. “Seriously. You did.” He threw his hands in the air. People were now actively crossing the concourse to avoid them. “Jesus, I'd been mooning after you for a YEAR. Completely gone. Stupid goofy. Natasha was texting me pictures of you.”

“She was not,” Phil said, because he was going to have a TALK with Romanov when he got back to the tower.

“Of course she was, you know her, she loves to manipulate people, and making them indebted to her at the same time is just icing on the cake.” Clint's fingers flexed, his fingers stretching out until the skin went white around the scar on his thumb. “You're an idiot, you know that? You couldn't even get me off your couch, and that was before you started feeding me.”

“I started feeding you before I was officially your handler,” Coulson said, rolling his eyes. “Back when you were working with Francis.”

“That guy was an idiot,” Clint said, with a faint chuckle. He pushed away from the wall. “Whatever happened to him?”

“I got him transferred to Sicily so I could take over as your handler,” Coulson said.

“Wait, what?”

Coulson didn't respond, because a small boy was barreling through the crowd, slamming into his legs. “UNCLE PHIL!”

“Sam!” Phil leaned over and scooped his nephew into his good arm, letting the six year old cling to his neck with surprisingly strong hands. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the aches and the bruises. “What are you doing here?”

“Grandma and Grandpa brought me!” He twisted his face over Phil's shoulder and then buried his face in Phil's neck.

“Well, I didn't think you came alone,” Phil said, glancing at Clint, who was shrugging. Though this did explain why his mother had stipulated that he bring a van. “Let me guess, your brother's with you.”

“Yep,” Sam said, before risking another glance at Clint. This time, he managed a tiny, shy wiggle of his fingers that technically counted as a wave before burrowing into Phil's jacket again.

“SAMUEL PHILLIP DAVIS.” 

The voice wasn't particularly loud, but it cut through the crowd with enough force to make Sam flinch. “Oh, yeah,” Phil said, setting the boy back on his feet. “You ran off without telling Grandma where you were going, didn't you? You're doomed.”

Sam tried to duck behind him, and Phil stepped aside. “Oh, no, I'm in enough trouble, I'm not dealing with your problems,” he said, grinning down at his nephew.

His eyes huge, Sam looked at Clint, his face pleading. If Clint was surprised, it didn't show in his face. He just stepped away from the wall and crooked a finger at the little boy. Sam shot straight to him, ducking around his legs to huddle behind Clint. After an instant, Clint reached down to touch his wild hair. “Stick with me, kid,” he said, “Your Uncle Phil likes me alive, we'll be fine.”

Sam peered up at him. “You've never met Grandma,” he said, resignation clear in the worlds.

“Sam, you know better than this.” Shirley Coulson had her carry-on in one hand and her other grandson close against her side. Phil's dad was waving cheerfully at them from a step behind, the boy's backpacks held in one hand. “You do not run away from us in a crowded place!”

Sam's fingers clutched at the pocket of Clint's jeans. “I'm sorry,” he said, leaning against Clint's side. 

“That doesn't change the fact that you did it,” she said, her tone firm. But her smile for Phil was wide and warm and affectionate. “Hello, Phil, baby.”

“Hi, Mom.” Phil took her bag and gave her a hug. “Why are my nephews here?” 

She gave him a kiss on his cheek. “Well, your sisters couldn't get the time off from work with no notice, they'll be down in a couple of days, we cashed in our airline points.” 

“Why are my sisters coming, Mom?” Phil could feel his life spinning rapidly out of control, even as he reached down to hug Bradley, the quieter of the twins. The little boy clung to his hand as Phil accepted his father's hug as well.

“They're very excited, dear,” Shirley said, breezing past him. She came to a stop in front of Clint, a faint smile on her features. “Hello, Clint,” she said. “I'm Phil's mother, and I'm very pleased to meet you. I'd like to give you a hug, if that's all right?”

To Phil's surprise, Clint's cheeks actually flushed. “Uh, yes, I mean-”

Shirley wrapped her arms around him, and it took only an instant for Clint to awkwardly hug her back. When Shirley finally took a step back, her hands cupping his shoulders, she grinned up at him. Before Clint could move, she stretched up and brushed her lips against his cheek. “Thank you for taking care of Phil,” she said. “I've brought his childhood pictures. All sorts of humiliating things.”

“Oh, my God,” Phil said, squeezing his eyes shut.

“You have no idea,” his father said, under his breath. “She was, well, less than pleased with you, son.”

“How less than pleased?” Phil asked. 

“There's a picture of you in the goose costume.”

Phil felt his face twitch. “Ah. I regret this already.”

“Yeah, you made a few mistakes here, buddy.” Jason patted him on the back. “It'll be fine, your boy looks like he's taking to your mom like a duck to water. Which is a good thing, because she's going to disown you and your only way back into this family might well be the fact that he seems to like you a bit.”

Clint had scooped Sam up to sit on the crook of his elbow, and the boy was chattering away at him like a magpie. Bradley tugged on Phil's arm. “Grandma,” he said, with dead seriousness in his voice, “said some really bad words when we saw you on tv.”

“I imagine so,” Phil said, as he watched his mother link Clint's free arm through hers, patting his bicep as she dragging him towards the luggage carousel. Clint glanced back at them, and Phil gave him a smile. “Don't say any of those words, okay?”

“Okay,” Bradley said. “I drew you a picture. Of Uncle Clint.”

“Did you, now? Can you hold onto it until we get back to the tower?”

“Yeah.” Another tug. “Are we really going to meet Captain America?” he whispered, when Phil leaned over. “Really really?”

“Yes. Did you bring your shield?”

“Mom said I couldn't.” Bradley scrambled along with the adults. “She said it was rude. And Grandma made us watch The Incredibles again, and we had the discussion about secret identities and why they were really important and we had to be careful and then we went over family protocol.”

“Wonderful.” Phil glanced at his dad, who grinned. “The Incredibles?”

“Regular viewings for the boys.” He arched his eyebrows. “And a repeated warning that they were not to ask Clint any awkward questions, especially not in public, or they'd be on the next plane home.”

“I wanna meet Captain America,” Bradley said. “And Iron Man.”

“You're not allowed to meet Iron Man,” Phil told him. “Ever.”

“Doesn't he live with you?” his dad asked in an undertone. 

“Yes.”

“How do you plan on pulling this one off, Phil?”

“I'll find a way.”

*

Clint drove. Phil wasn't really happy with that, but driving one handed was best kept for emergency situations. If the thought of crashing the car with half his immediate family in it wasn't reason enough, he wasn't sure he could handle dealing with SHIELD's insurance division today on top of everything else. They already hated him.

He really wished he could've been the one driving. It would've helped to have his hands locked on something so he didn't give in to the urge to strangle someone. Probably Clint, and he'd regret that later.

“The Incredibles, Mom?” he asked once they were safely stuck in rush hour traffic and there was no chance anyone was going to be able to flee. Including him. “Really?” He flicked a glance back at the twins, but they were glued to the windows in the far back of the mini-van, their fingers leaving streaks on the glass. The scenery seemed to be holding their attention for now.

His mother, in the second row of seats, heaved a very put-upon sigh. “Really, Phillip. We're not nearly as stupid as you seem to think we are.”

He let his eyes close. “You knew.”

“Everyone knew,” she said, in a tone of voice that made it clear that she was stuck between pity and annoyance. “Everyone. The whole family knew. Mr. Smithson next door knew. Cousin Ralph knew, and he has a drinking problem, Phil. Most days, he can't tell us what his dog's name is, but he knew what you were up to.”

In the driver's seat, Clint was staring out the windshield like the stopped traffic held the key to eternal life. He had a hand clamped over his mouth, and Phil spared him a glare. Clint didn't make eye contact with him, and based on the way his shoulders were shaking, that was probably for the best.

“Mom-”

“Seriously, Phil, it was a little insulting. Do you really think no one pays attention? And, I'm sorry, Clint, but no one believed you manned a desk. You didn't get arms like that from pushing stacks of paper around. Let alone the rest of you.”

Clint choked on a laugh. “No-” He cleared his throat. “No offense taken, ma'am, thank you.”

“Please, call me Shirley.” For CLINT, her voice was affectionate and amused.

“Mom,” Phil tried.

“No. No. We humored you, Phil, there was a family meeting and we agreed that it was your right to come to terms with this on your own time, and choose when you were comfortable enough with your identity to share it with your family. You know. The people who love you.”

“We kinda thought you'd do it before now, to be honest,” his father said. He leaned forward. “You should cut across here, son, we'll never make it through midtown at this time of day,” he said to Clint, who did what he was told with only a momentary pause.

“Dad-” Phil said, but his mother was still going.

“Every one of us has respected your choice, Phillip, but I am absolutely at my wit's end with you. After all that, and you still have to be forced into a confession by CNN, there is no dignity to that, Phil, absolutely none. You had your chance and you squandered it, which is just embarrassing. I hope you're embarrassed right now, I really do. ”

Phil resisted the urge to bounce his forehead off of the dashboard. “I was trying to keep things quiet, Mom.”

“Well, you did a lousy job of it.”

Clint lost it, bent over, laughing as he braced his forehead on the steering wheel. Phil gave him a killing look, which did not do anything to dissuade him. “I will hurt you,” he said in an undertone.

“I look forward to it,” Clint gasped out, before he started laughing again.

“For God's sake, your sister runs a conspiracy blog about you,” his mother said, and Phil whipped around in his seat. “Pam-”

“She does not,” Phil said, his tone icy.

“Of course she does,” his mother said, rolling her eyes. “Pam never could resist a good joke, dear, and her photoshop skills have gotten so much better because of it.”

“Holy f-,” Clint glanced at the boys in the rearview mirror and swallowed the rest of the word. “Which one? I subscribe to every one of them, which one is-”

“The one where Phil is the secret president,” Shirley told him with a grin.

“No way,” Clint said, his eyes huge, an obscene grin spreading across his face.

“I will kill her,” Phil said, cradling his forehead in his good hand. “I will absolutely kill her.”

“That's my favorite one!” Clint crowed. “That is- That is the best thing in the world, oh, my GOD, Phil, your sister is a genius, I love your sister, I am leaving you for your sister.”

“It's only fair, dear,” Shirley said to him. “Her boyfriend left her for Phil.”

Clint's eyebrows arched. “Really? When was this? College?”

“Three years ago. He made a play for Phil during Christmas dinner, it was all very awkward,” Jason said. “Turn left here, we can cut across.”

“We were dating three years ago,” Clint said to Phil.

“I tried to get you to come home with me for Christmas, if I remember correctly,” Phil gritted out. “And first of all, he didn't leave her for me, that implies we started dating. We did not start dating. I did not steal her boyfriend, and she was dating him knowing he was gay, so she was amused as hell by it.”

“Still. Awkward,” Jason said. “What's the traffic like ahead?”

“It's New York. In the afternoon. Traffic implies movement, we're not going to get that,” Clint explained. “Why was she dating him if she knew he was gay?”

“He was a shoe buyer for a major chain, Pam found that attractive,” Phil said.

“Such a nice man,” Shirley mused. “Not right for you, Phil, of course, but still, a nice man.”

“You stole your sister's boyfriend at Christmas dinner?” He was trying for mournful and not succeeding. “While I was pining away back at base?”

“He got drunk and advised my Great-Aunt Leslie that he admired my rear end,” Phil said. “And let's go back to the fact that my sister is running a conspiracy blog on me, shall we?”

“Yes, let's,” Clint said. “Because it's my favorite. I mean, the secret president thing? That is gold. Absolute gold. There are not enough pictures of Phil coming out of the White House for my taste.” He grinned at Phil's parents. “She is a piece of work.”

“Yes, she is,” Shirley said, sounding proud. “She's making a pretty decent chunk of money off of it as well, between the ad revenue and being on SHIELD's payroll.”

Clint nearly crashed into a parked car.

“What.” Phil could barely get the word out from between teeth clenched so tightly that they were almost glued together. “What did you just say?”

“Don't be slow, Phil. Of course SHIELD investigates the blogs that are a little too good. Just for your safety, of course.”

“Do you expect me to believe that SHIELD-”

“It was that nice Maria Hill who vetted the whole family, but Nick Fury's been by a few times,” Shirley explained. “He likes my cookies.”

“Mostly the macaroons,” Jason said. “I swear, she makes coconut macaroons, and he's on the doorstep within twenty-four hours. Nice man. Spooky. But a nice enough fella.”

“Director Fury. Shows up to eat your cookies,” Phil said.

“Three times so far,” Shirley said. “Lovely chats.” In the rearview mirror, her eyes were laser sharp. “About your continued health and safety. Or lack thereof. Like after that mess in New York, Phil.”

“Take a right here,” Jason told Clint.

“This is the best car ride I've ever taken part in,” Clint said. “Seriously. I will be happy being stuck in this car for the rest of my life.”

“And you will be, if you keep following my father's driving directions,” Phil said. “Dad, when's the last time you've been in New York?”

Jason hemmed and hawed for a moment, his eyes narrowed. “Probably the mid-nineties.”

“Let's assume things have changed since 9-11,” Phil said. To Clint, he said, “Stop following his instructions.”

Clint was grinning. “It's New York traffic, Phil, we're not going anywhere, no matter what route we take.”

As if on cue, Phil's phone rang with the SHIELD alert tone. Phil gave Clint a look as he pulled it out. “You had to say that.” Clint shrugged, already forcing his way through traffic. Despite his complete lack of concern for human life, or perhaps because of it, he was making headway.

“Go ahead,” Phil said, flicking it to speakerphone.

“We've got trouble,” Fury said with no intro. “We need Hawkeye, extraction's on it's way, ETA in plus or minus four minutes.”

“We are literally in the middle of traffic right now,” Phil said. “Extraction's going to be difficult.”

“We're aware. Extraction's a drop-in. Shirley! Jason! Glad you can join us!” Fury said. “How was the flight?”

“Lovely,” Shirley said, and Phil gave up any concept of control of his life. “I'll send someone over with a batch of cookies.”

“Hey, excellent! Iron Man's on the way, Hawkeye. Coulson, stick with your family for now, I'll let you know if we need you in this thing.”

“Iron Man?” Sam crowed from the back of the van. Both boys were now pressing forward.

“Butts in the seats, seatbelts on, right now!” Shirley said, and they retreated.

“I hate live extractions,” Clint said, sighing. “We need a driver.”

“I got this,” Jason said, already reaching for his seat belt.

“No,” Phil said. “I'll drive.”

“Mess up that wrist any more, sir, and I'll leave you in medical,” Clint said, with a tight smile. There was a thread of steel in his voice that Phil had learned to not underestimate.

“You should probably be around to supervise this little jaunt,” Shirley said, with a pleasant smile. “I added a new photo to the album every time I became annoyed with this situation over the last few years. It's quite extensive by now. You are unlikely to want Clint to see most of them.”

“I want to see them,” Clint said. “Just, that's my vote, if I get a vote? I'd like to see them.”

“And you will,” Shirley said, smiling. “What he wants isn't really going to hold much water right now.”

“Hey,” said Fury, sounding way too amused, “didja bring the one with the goose costume? 'Cause that one's just fantastic. Boots on the ground, Hawkeye. You're up.” The call disconnected.

Clint threw the van into park. “Clear,” he said, as Tony came in for a landing in front of them.

“IRON MAN!” the twins shrieked, and Jason took a picture out the window.

“Well, ain't that a thing,” he said, as Clint stepped out of the van. Tony waved at them.

“Pick-ups waiting, move it, or you get to fight evil out of uniform,” Iron Man said, humor coming through the speakers. 

“Unlike you,” Clint said, flipping a wave at the Coulsons, “I'm not dependent on my uniform to be useful.”

“Fine. You can walk to the Quinjet,” Tony snarked back. “Hey, Coulsons. We got this one, Agent, Jarvis is waiting for you, order some takeout, prank call Donald Trump, live it up, guest rooms are ready, nice to meet you all, do yourself a favor, don't touch the bread maker, yes, we have a bread maker, there was a miscalculation, no time to go into it right now,” he said, before snagging Clint around the waist, and then they were gone with a blast of the repulsors and a wave of honking horns.

Jason took another picture. “Don't that beat all,” he said. He moved up to the driver's seat. “I like your young man, Phil.”

“I do, too,” Phil said, watching the streak of light disappear. He took a deep breath. “Let's get home.”

*

It was close to midnight when they finally stumbled home.

Stumbling was probably the right word for it, Thor was pretty much carrying Bruce and Steve was trying to be subtle about the grip he had on the back of Tony's black underarmor shirt. Clint was used to using Natasha to prop himself up, but she was leaning heavily against his side, her head down, her shoulders hunched beneath his arm. 

“This is great,” Tony said, and his voice was slurred at the edges, a little drunk or a little head injury, it was hard to say with Tony sometimes. He didn't seem to understand why his feet weren't moving towards his workshop, no matter how hard he tried. “I can reverse engineer this, it'll be great, I think I can figure out the command module if I have a couple of hours to break through the coding and-”

Steve gave up on pretense and snagged Tony's shoulders in both his hands. “Okay,” he said, his voice holding a note that made it clear that he was humoring Tony's delusions. “Tony, you need to sleep now. Right now, you need to sleep.” The words were very careful, very precise, and Clint wasn't sure if that was for his own benefit, or Tony's. “We're going to go to bed.” He stopped, shook his head. “We are going to our beds. You are going to bed. And so am I.” His cheeks were flushed, and Clint started to laugh.

Tony nodded. “Yeah, sure, no problem, I should be able to get what I need done if I can just-”

“Go to bed, Stark,” Natasha said, not bothering to lift her head from Clint's shoulder. She was gripping the front of his uniform vest with one determined hand, and Clint wrapped his arm more securely around her back. 

“Yeah, I will, I just have to-” Tony didn't seem to notice that Steve was not moving him towards the workshop. Not at all. Behind his back, Steve gave them all a faint smile. Exhaustion had dug deep furrows in his face, and he was moving much slower than usual.

“Thor, you have him? Bruce, you okay?” Steve asked, still checking his team, despite his exhaustion. 

Both men nodded. “Aye, I will see him safe to his sleep,” Thor said, his voice subdued. Against his shoulder, Bruce let out a chuckle, and there was a faint note of hysteria to the sound.

“Remember, Coulson's family is here,” Steve said, even as he steered Tony towards the elevator. Tony was still talking, a low, sustained mumble of words, his eyes unfocused as he sank deeper into the intellectual possibilities of his work. “Watch out for the kids.”

“Lock your doors,” Clint said, managing a smile.

“You think you're kidding, but you're not,” Natasha said. “Let go, I can get back to my room without you.”

“Uh-huh,” Clint said, because he wasn't holding onto her half as much as she was holding onto him. He knew better than to point that out, though. It was a lot easier, and safer, to just drag her back to her room and ignore the way she was swearing at him the entire way.

He was pretty sure that she was asleep almost before she was prone on the bed. He took the risk of removing her boots, and half-asleep, she kicked at his head. “Ungrateful,” he mumbled, and she laughed. By the time he made it to the door, her breathing had evened out, thin and regular, and he knew she was asleep.

Clinging to consciousness with his fingernails and gritted teeth, he wandered back to his bedroom, one hand braced against the wall, supporting himself the entire way. It took him far too long to realize that his bed was empty, and he leaned back against the wall. “Jarvis, where is Phil?”

“In the home theater,” Jarvis said. “He has fallen asleep on the couch with his nephews. Would you like me to wake him for you?”

Clint groaned. “No,” he said, pushing away from the door frame and stumbling back in the other direction. “Thanks, Jarvis.”

The tower was still, quiet in a way that it only was in the middle of the night, when all of its restless inhabitants had finally succumbed to exhaustion or the need to be alone, when the silence could stretch, comfortable and easy. As he walked, Jarvis adjusted the lights ahead of him, a faint glow like a path lit through the night. Clint couldn't keep a smile off of his face as he walked, the lights an aureole around him the whole way.

He was exhausted, bone dead exhausted by the time he reached the theater. But a single glance told him the trip had been worth it.

The room was dark, but the massive screen was still flickering, throwing light over the sleeping trio. Phil had fallen asleep on the couch, a file open on the table in front of him, his head back and his phone resting screen side down against his chest, covered with one protective hand. The boys were curled up on either side of him, the remains of bowls of popcorn and cups of juice deserted on the table and floor around them. They'd all been covered with blankets, and the faint sounds of an animated film provided a faint wash of white noise.

Clint leaned against the doorway, too tired to go back to bed, and not having the heart to wake them. For a long moment, he just stood there, smiling, glad for this, this fleeting moment of grace. Where all of his teammates were accounted for and he had this place, safe and warm and comfortable, where he had Phil.

“They all fell asleep almost simultaneously.”

Jerking, he glanced back over his shoulder. Shirley was wearing a pink bathrobe over plaid pajamas and fuzzy slippers. She smiled at him, her hands cupped close around a coffee cup. “I figured it was time to put the boys to bed. Would you like some cocoa?” She offered him the mug, the steam curling up in a fragrant cloud.

“No, it's okay, I should-” His stomach growled, and he squeezed his mouth shut. Her smile stretched just a little more, warm and kind, and he gave up. “Okay, so, yeah.” He reached for it, and at the last second, he yanked his hand back. “No. Sorry. That's yours, I shouldn't-”

She pressed it into his hand, and without a choice, he took it from her. “C'mon, let's go back to the kitchen, and I'll make myself another cup. All right?”

He wasn't sure why, but he followed her, his hands wrapped tight around the warm mug as he trailed in her wake. He didn't risk taking a sip, not until he was seated at the kitchen table, his head down over his drink, his elbows braced on the tabletop. He took an instant to just breathe in the steam, the bittersweet scent of chocolate and cream. Finally, he took a careful sip. The sweet, hot liquid washed over his tongue, down his throat, and he almost moaned.

Shirley smiled as she turned the electric kettle on. “It's just instant, but it still tastes good, doesn't it?” She went into the cabinet for another cup. “Does Phil still make it from scratch?”

Clint smiled into his mug, letting the scent and warmth fill him. “Yeah. When ever he gets the chance. But he hides his supplies.”

“Like a squirrel, that boy. I think it comes from having younger sisters. They were always into everything.” She glanced at him. “Things... Went all right?”

He nodded. “We won. Everyone came home. It's the best we can expect, most fights.” He took another sip and yawned into the cup, too tired to mind his manners. “We kept Phil in the loop.”

“I know, he was checking his phone constantly.” The kettle was bubbling away, and she reached for it. 

“Sorry,” Clint said, and she waved him off.

“It was a quiet night. Jarvis had a few episodes of that new Avengers cartoon? The one that isn't out yet?”

Clint grinned. “My outfit is horrific in that thing. Purple. A whole lotta purple.”

“Yes, it is. It's a good color on you.” She was smiling as she stirred her cup. “We watched those and ordered a pizza,” Shirley said. “And Phil fussed.”

“He does that well.” The cup was down to its dregs, and he didn't want to let it go.

“You're very kind to him. All of you.”

“We depend on him.” Clint was leaning heavily on his elbows. “I need him.” The words were slurring on the edges, he could hear it, and he struggled to keep it together. “Maybe too much..”

Shirley took a seat next to him at the table. Her cup made a faint click against the wood, and he inhaled, catching the scent of something light and flowery mixed with the chocolate. “I was always afraid,” she said, her voice so soft that it was barely audible, “that he'd end up with someone who would encourage the worst parts of him. Some self-righteous prig.” She sipped her chocolate. “You are just what he needs, and more than I'd hoped for.”

Clint stared at the table, his fingers too tight on the mug. He couldn't speak, couldn't breathe. His shoulders hunched forward as he struggled for words, for thought. The first brush of fingers against his hair made him jump, and Shirley pulled away.

“I'm sorry,” she said, with a faint smile, and Clint stared at her.

“You just... Startled me,” he managed. “It was, it was fine.” He blinked, exhausted. “Kind of nice.”

“I thought so, too.”

Not sure what to do, wishing he was better at words, wishing he was any good at all at this, at dealing with normal people, with kind, honest people, and knowing that all the wishes in the world wouldn't change a thing about who he was. He braced his forehead on one palm, avoiding her eyes, because he didn't know what to say, but she was silent, too.

But her fingers brushed against his head again, the touch gentle and soft. His eyes slid shut, and he decided he would deal with this later. With all of it. Because right now, he was too tired. For now, this was enough, this stillness, scented with chocolate and filled with the faint sound of someone humming a tune, soft and low, that sounded almost like a lullaby.

“Clint?”

He stirred at the sound, so familiar, so comforting. There was the faint pressure of fingers, sliding over his head, stroking his hair. He tried to open his eyes, but it wasn't happening. Instead, he turned his face into the gentle touch, a needy sound slipping from him.

From a distance, he heard, “Yeah, he's gone. Thanks. I got him.”

“You need help, Phil?”

“No, thanks, Mom.” Arms slid around Clint. “Up we go, Agent. Evac time.”

He didn't want to, he wasn't even sure he was capable, but somehow he found himself upright and leaning heavily against Phil's chest, his legs moving him forward. “Tired,” he mumbled.

“I know. We're going to bed. It's okay, we're almost there.”

Clint followed, because he'd done worse. He leaned heavily on Phil, and wasn't the first time he'd been half-carried, half-dragged out of trouble. Eventually, after an eternity of movement and struggle, he was lowered to something soft and yielding. He was crawling into bed, mostly without help, when he became aware of hands stripping away his uniform. He groaned. “Sorry, can't,” he mumbled. “Too tired, can't-”

A soft, warm chuckle. “Even if you could, I doubt it would be worth my time.”

“Hey...” The last of his clothes were peeled away, and he slumped facedown into the pillows, groaning. His hands scrambled at the sheets and managed to get a grip on the pillow, snuggling down. “Long day.”

“Long couple of days.” The bed dipped, and Phil's familiar touch coaxed him back into an embrace. He went, more willing than able, but he made it, curling into Phil's body. Anything else that was said or done was immaterial, and he was smiling as he let himself slip back into unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still plugging away at this. It's slow going. Sorry about that. 8)

Tony Stark first thing in the morning was not really functioning all of his genius capable cylinders. If 'morning' came after two or three days of no or limited sleep without the intervention of someone willing to shove him in the direction of his bed, he was basically a zombie with an unhealthy passion for mathematics and explosions in equal parts.

Coffee, sleep, Pepper Potts and/or Steve Rogers could usually keep the situation from blooming into a global catastrophe or an international incident.

Most of the time Tony wandered around the tower, eyes either closed, or glassy and blank as he struggled to remember where the kitchen was, and then once he located the kitchen, as he struggled to find the coffee pot. Usually someone took pity before he started trying to pour scalding hot liquid into a non-existent cup, but when he was so deep in his work that he wasn't really on the same plane of existence as the rest of them, he was known for simply walking out of the kitchen with the pot in hand.

Phil was convinced that Jarvis warned Steve when Tony was in a particularly bad state. One way or another, their team leader was always in the kitchen to caffeinate Tony and subtly check his vitals when he started speaking in engineering-based tongues.

This morning, Steve was at the kitchen table, chatting with Phil's dad as Tony stumbled in. Steve sighed. “You didn't stay in bed, did you?” he asked, snagging Tony by the elbow and steering him away from the wall. Tony didn't seem to notice.

Phil leaned back in his chair to make sure that Tony was wearing pants. He was, but it was probably only because he'd never taken them off, not that he remember to put them on. Tony didn't seem to notice anything was happening, or that anyone else was present, he just made a beeline for the coffeepot.

And was waylaid by the steaming basket of blueberry muffins on the counter.

He paused. Considered the muffins with narrowed eyes. Circled the counter, checking them out from all angles. He crouched down so that he was at eye level with the basket, and all that was visible of him was eyes and a bushy mop of dark hair. “Muffins,” he said at last, and Phil's mother set down the most recent tin, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

“You are a strange, adorable little man,” she said, grinning as she grabbed a napkin, plucked one from the basket and handed it over.

Tony nodded. “It's part of my charm,” he said, leaning against the counter, blinking. He then consumed the muffin in what Phil was pretty sure was three bites, while Shirley poured him a cup of coffee.

“It is, isn't it? I have the oddest desire to feed you,” she said, grinning as she held out the cup.

“I appreciate, and encourage, that impulse.” He took a sip from the cup, eyes narrowed into dark, fathomless slits. He stabbed a finger in her direction. “Phil's mom!” he said. “Good. Knew you looked familiar. No idea what you were doing in my kitchen, but you are Phil's mom, you are Phil's mom and you are here to see Phil, and you have made muffins!”

“That is all correct! Good job,” she said, handing him another muffin. He took it as his due.

At the kitchen table, Steve was hiding a grin behind one broad hand. Jason sipped his coffee, eyebrows arched. “He's really a genius,” Phil explained. “Really. One of the greatest minds of his generation..”

“The greatest mind of my generation, and several on either side of me,” Tony corrected. He considered the basket of muffins as he licked crumbs off of his thumb. “Hell, let's just go with, 'greatest mind of this century.' That works well.”

“You've got blueberry muffin in your beard,” Steve said, his eyes dancing with barely banked humor, and Tony shrugged, unconcerned.

“These things happen.”

“Only to you.”

Shirley's eyes were bouncing between the two men, a faintly curious expression on her face. She opened her mouth, and Phil shook his head at her, an expression of 'please, do not say it' on his face. She raised her eyebrows and carried the muffin basket over to the table. Leaning over, she whispered in Phil's ear, “Are Captain America and Iron Man dating?”

“They do not know this yet,” he whispered back, and kissed her cheek. “Do not bring it up.”

“Oh, that's adorable,” she said aloud, and patted him on the shoulder.

“It starts out adorable. It gets distinctly less adorable as time goes on,” Phil explained. “At a certain point, it just becomes painful.”

“I take it you've reached that point?” She took a seat.

“About ten minutes after realizing this was my job.” Phil saluted her with his coffee cup.

“How did you get this job?” his father asked. “And do you pay rent here? 'Cause if not, that's a nice perk, that's something you can bank on.”

“I can charge rent?” Tony asked, eyebrows arching.

Steve pressed a cup of coffee into his hand, and he latched onto it like a dying man grabs a lifeline. “No,” Steve said, his lips twitching. “We keep you from dying, that's our rent.”

“I would like to not be living here. I haven't a choice in the matter,” Phil told him. Tony waved him off.

“What time is it?” he asked, rubbing his face even as he chugged his way through his coffee.

“Six twenty,” Jason told him. He had several New York city guidebooks spread out on the table in front of him, a set of highlighters lined up within reach. He reached for a map, a faint frown on his face as he considered the subway lines.

Tony thought about that, eyes narrowed. “AM or PM?” he asked.

“AM,” Steve told him, prying the empty cup out of Tony's hand and refilling it. “Tony, did you sleep at all?”

Tony waved him off. “Had to figure out, the system from that tech... It was interesting. Gotta crack it. Sooner, rather than later.” He accepted the cup with a pleased murmur. “Think I got it. Maybe. Jarvis is running the data now. Should have an answer soon enough.”

“Maybe you should sit down,” Shirley said, patting him on the shoulder. “Jarvis was kind enough to order some groceries, I put money on the fridge to pay for them, would you like some breakfast?”

Tony stared at the two twenty dollar bills held to the front of the fridge with a magnet shaped like a day-glo green saguaro cactus. “Are you- You don't have-” He paused. Blinked. “I have magnets?”

“It would appear so. I found them on your fridge, so I assume they're yours,” Shirley said. “How do you like your eggs?”

Tony was still staring at the money. “Cooked.” He blinked. “Not an omelet. Omelets and I, we have a history, let's just skip that for now, no omelets, why is there money on my fridge?”

“Scrambled it is,” Shirley said, shaking her head. There was a smile on her face. “Steven?”

“Scrambled is fine, ma'am,” he said, standing. “Can I help?”

“Thank you, baby. Jarvis got us a few pounds of bacon, could you please grab it from the fridge?”

“I'm gonna make my hash brown potatoes,” Jason said. “Jarvis, we got some onions around here?”

“We don't have time for potatoes,” Shirley said, and Jason waved her off. Rolling her eyes, she followed Jarvis' instructions to retrieve a bowl from the cabinets. She started cracking eggs with a quick, practiced hand. “Hey!” she snapped, making everyone jump. She snagged a wooden spoon from the counter and smacked Calcifer with it. “For the last time, you leave that bread maker alone! That is not acceptable! Go back to your spot, right now, mister!” The toaster tried to dodge her, and she held up the spoon with a faint sound of warning. Calcifer retreated across the counter. “That's what I thought. Don't you start with me, young man, I will put a dent in your casing like you would not believe, I tell you what.”

“I have magnets shaped like a little cactus,” Tony mused to Phil. “Where did I get magnets shaped like little cacti?”

“I think Jane sent them to Thor,” Phil said.

“I do not understand that relationship.” Tony nodded. “Why is there money on my fridge?”

“If you want to argue with my mother about money, you are on your own,” Phil said. “I am not getting involved with that, Stark. Not a chance.”

“I have found invaders!” Thor boomed from the doorway. “We had a mighty battle, but I am victorious!” There was a giggling boy under each of his arms. “What shall I do with my captives?”

“Hi, Gramma!” Sam said, from his upside down position. He was laughing as he waved at her. “Look, it's THOR!”

“So it is.” Shirley looked up at Thor. It was a long way up. “I will exchange your prisoners of war for delicious baked goods, hot from the oven.”

His lips pursed, and his eyes twinkled. “Perhaps. What sort of baked goods, good lady?”

“Blueberry muffins.”

Thor grinned. “This is an acceptable ransom.” He set the boys back on their feet, his movements careful. Sam was giggling too hard to move away, and he clung to Thor's hand. Shirley gave them each a muffin wrapped in a napkin.

“All right, you three, go sit down and I'll get you some milk,” Shirley said, pointing. Sam and Bradley, Thor right behind them, headed for the kitchen table. Thor did not appear to have any problem with being lumped in with the six year olds.

“Can we have pancakes?” Bradley asked, even as he ripped a chunk of his muffin free and popped it in his mouth. 

“We're having eggs.” Both boys groaned, and she rolled her eyes. “The Avengers are eating eggs, so you can eat eggs.”

“I can make pancakes,” Clint said from the doorway. He was rumpled and heavy-lidded, his hair in disorganized spikes and a faint hint of beard on his jaw. “I'm good at pancakes.” Behind him, Natasha hid a yawn behind one palm, her hair brushing flushed cheeks. “Bruce will be here in just a minute, and he'd never ask, but he likes pancakes the best, too.”

“I'll get the griddle,” Natasha said, because she liked pancakes, more than most things, she liked pancakes. “We have apples in the fridge.”

“Are you trying to introduce fruit?” Coulson said, and he get to his feet, because yes, fruit was something he should at least try for. He passed behind Clint, who was heading in the other direction, going for pancake mix and milk. He hooked an arm around Clint's waist and kissed the side of his neck, the contact brief and gentle, even as he kept going. Clint smacked his ass, grinning without a trace of shame.

“There are a lot of people in this kitchen,” Tony said, and he sounded happy about that, cheerful under the strain of too little sleep and too much brilliance. He wandered across the room, heading for the coffee pot, and Steve blocked him with a spatula. “Coffee,” Tony told him, pointing at the pot as if Steve wasn't aware of its presence..

“Food,” Steve said, arching his eyebrows. 

“Waste of time,” Tony said.

Steve sighed. “Eat something.”

“I had a muffin. Two. Two muffins.” Tony held up two fingers.

“Tony....”

“Coffee first.”

“You've had three cups. I'm cutting you off. Go sit with Thor and the boys.”

“I don't want to sit at the kiddie table,” Tony told him. “It's my kitchen, and I am not sitting.”

“You can eat standing up, but I don't know why you'd want to,” Steve said, and he as grinning at the pan of bacon as he did.

“This is going to take a while,” Phil said, rolling his eyes as the two men glared at each other. “Let's go. Breakfast.”

*

“You do realize that we live in the most exciting city in the Western world,” Phil said. “New York. The Big Apple. The city of cities.” He leaned back, arms crossed over his chest, a faint half smile on his face. “I love my city. Best city in the world.”

“I don't know,” Shirley said, her lips pursed. “I've always liked Paris.”

“I like Paris,” Clint said. He leaned forward, bracing his hands on either side of his legs, his body canted forward. “I really like Paris.”

“Phil speaks French,” Shirley said.

“Fluently,” Clint agreed. “Why do you think I like Paris?”

Phil glanced in their direction just in time to see them exchange a smile. “Yes, well,” he said, not sure just how worried he should be about this new partnership, “we live in New York. People all over the world flock to New York. Culture, history, entertainment, everything you could want.”

“Is there a point to this, Phil?” his mother asked.

“Why are we in the basement playing with the vacuum cleaner?” Phil glared at Mr. Fantastic, who was hovering in what he considered a threatening manner directly in front of him. 

“Excuse me,” Tony yelled from across the workshop. “People would sell their firstborn to get into my workshop.”

“What people?” Steve asked.

“I don't know. People.” Tony waved a hand. “I don't want their first born anyway. The point is, this is not a basement. And I resent the implication.”

“Museums. Statue of Liberty. Broadway. Rockefeller Center,” Phil said, ignoring Stark because he was good at that by now. “And we're in the basement. Playing with the vacuum cleaner.”

Clint reached out and coaxed the floating Roomba away from Phil. “C'mere, baby, no, don't bother the mean man, it's not his fault that he doesn't see you for the special little treasure that you are.”

“I will shoot that thing one of these days,” Phil said. He wasn't quite sure that he was exaggerating. He was pretty sure he wasn't.

“Don't worry,” Clint told Shirley, “Tony made him bulletproof.”

“Imagine my relief,” Shirley said. She patted Mr. Fantastic on his casing. The Roomba whirred happily and bumped up to nudge her hand.

“Don't get attached to that thing, Mom,” Phil said.

“Grandma, Grandma!” Sam came running up, clutching a Roomba to his chest. “Tony said I could have one! He said I could have one because it needs a challenge!”

“Well, that was very nice of him,” Shirley said.

“Absolutely not,” Phil said, glaring at it. The Roomba hummed cheerfully along. “Mom. No. Sam, put it back where you got it before it maims you.. ”

“I beg your pardon,” Jarvis said, his voice frosty. “The Roombas are under control at all times, Agent Coulson. I would not allow them to harm the children.”

“Of course you wouldn't,” Shirley soothed. “Phil's just a bit grouchy today.”

Phil resisted the urge to say something that she, or Jarvis, would make him regret later. 

“It's a nice Roomba,” Sam said, holding it up, his eyes huge. Phil took the robot away from him. “C'mon, Uncle Phil!”

“Stark, do not try to pawn your failed experiments off on my family,” Phil said, setting the Roomba on a workbench. It immediately set about checking for anything it could consume.

“Do you know how much these things are worth?” Tony asked. He was sitting on the workbench, a cup of coffee in one hand and a muffin in the other. He was putting up with the invasion pretty well; it helped that he was completely sleep deprived and somewhere between 'exhausted' and 'zombie.' He yawned, and almost dumped the coffee into his lap as he tried to cover it with the hand that held the cup. “Seriously, Phil. Unclench. It's fine. They're practical.”

“They're pretty useful,” Steve agreed. Bradley was clinging to his back like a monkey, an empty Iron Man helmet prototype rattling around on his head. 

“Steeeeeeeeeeeeeve,” one of the Roombas said, setting off a wave of greetings all over the room. To his credit, Steve barely flinched.

“And friendly,” Shirley said.

“They're monstrous little metal locusts,” Phil said. He gave Mr. Fantastic a dirty look. The vacuum, which had no sense of self-preservation, tried to float back over to him, whirring cheerfully. Clint caught his pet and dragged it back with a grin.

“I wouldn't mind one, I tell you what,” Jason said. One of the Roombas rolled by his feet and he scooped it up. He flipped it on its back, making the wheels whirr in a panicked manner. “What? You're not a turtle, relax, I'm just taking a look,” he said, his voice stern. 

“How is it that everyone seems comfortable with talking to the mechanical horrors?” Phil asked.

“They're AWESOME!” Bradley said, his voice muffled by the helmet.

“I like the toaster,” Shirley said.

“I can't believe you got a toasted raisin bagel,” Tony said, frowning. “I don't... I am confused by that.” A Roomba floated by, and he set his empty coffee cup on it. Phil frowned, not liking that precedent. He did not want to see an Avengers party with the Roombas standing in for waitstaff. 

Roombas carrying champagne flutes just seemed like asking for broken crystal and spilled Dom Perignon. 

“Parenting is all about making your expectations known and following through with the proper support,” Shirley said. “And if that fails, a good smack with a wooden spoon on his little metal casing seems to do the trick.”

“This is toaster specific advice, then?” Clint asked.

“If she picks up the spoon, duck,” Phil told him. His mother smacked him lightly on the shoulder with the back of her hand. “What? It's the truth.”

“It is not, stop telling horrid lies,” she said, shaking her head. 

Sam shuffled over to Clint's side, his eyes huge. “Can't I take one home?” he asked.

“Sorry, buddy, it's not up to me,” Clint said, grinning.

“Pleeeeeeeeeease, Uncle Clint?” Sam asked, patting Mr. Fantastic. “I can take care of one!”

“It's a vacuum cleaner,” Phil said. “And don't beg, Sam. It's rude. And Clint doesn't know you well enough to resist it.”

“I'm a highly trained government agent,” Clint said, an odd note to his voice.

“You think that means you can resist him?” Phil asked, doubtful.

“No, it means that Uncle Clint's really good at sneaking things past the border guards,” Clint said. He held out a hand, and Sam gave him a high five, laughing as he jumped to make contact. 

“I really need you to not undermine me here,” Phil said.

“I'm not teaching them to ride them, Phil, that's about all I can-”

“You can RIDE THEM?” Bradley shrieked.

“Oops,” Clint said, his smile far too innocent to be real.

“What kind of lift can these things get?” Jason asked. He set a foot on one of the Roombas, his eyebrows arching over the frames of his glasses. It immediately tried to take off, nearly sending Jason crashing onto his ass.

“Far more than is safe,” Steve said, even as he swung a wriggling Sam down to the ground. “It takes a whole bunch of them to lift Thor, but he's heavier than the average human.”

“I miss that ironing board,” Phil said. It wasn't so much the ironing board that he missed, if he was being honest with himself. He'd gotten the damn thing at IKEA; it wasn't like it was a family heirloom. It was more what the ironing board represented. Some element of control over his damn life, mostly.

Which had gone right out the window right around the time when a Norse God and a Russian Assassin had co-opted his ironing board and used it to surf on a mad scientist's vain attempt to get out of doing his fair share of the chores.

If Phil really had to pick a single moment at which his life went horribly, horribly wrong, he was pretty sure he'd choose that one.

Now, of course, as he watched as his nephews, his father, and his lover all discussed ways to use floating robotic vacuum cleaners as jousting ponies, he didn't even question it any longer. There was no point. Besides, Steve was there, looking like he was starting to develop a headache, and that meant he was going to keep Tony from encouraging this. 

“Can't you control them, Mom?” Phil asked his mother.

“Youthful high spirits, darling,” she said, sipping her tea.

“That explains my nephews, how about your husband?”

“Why is he 'my husband' when you're annoyed with him?”

“I didn't have a choice about this,” Phil said. “You did.”

Her eyes slid in his direction, dark and glittering. Despite the years that had passed since he was a teenager, she was still just as sharp. “We all make choices, Phil. I choose to continue acknowledging you,” she said with a faint smile, and Phil bit back a grin.

“You've made some poor choices before, this is just another one,” Phil said. “And your grandsons are holy terrors.”

“I don't think you've got room to talk, what with your juvie record,” Shirley said, and the world came to a sudden and abrupt stop.

Phil groaned.

Steve scooped Bradley off of a Roomba and placed back on the ground. “Okay, boys, what do you think, let's go upstairs and Tony and I will show you the Quinjet-” Steve started as he wrapped an arm around Tony's back and half pushing, half lifting him off the workbench. Tony cut him off.

“No, wait, did she say-” Tony said, even as Steve all but shoved him towards the elevator. “Steve, did she just-”

“What kinda speed do you get outta that thing?” Jason asked, as the boys took off running, both of them whooping as they crashed across the workshop. He gave Phil and Shirley a look, but he headed after the boys. “That's an impressive piece of work, there, have you considered the fuel usage if you could alter the engine output?”

Tony was immediately distracted. “Well, I already have-”

The elevator doors closed behind them, and Phil concentrated on not killing his mother. Maybe Clint would ignore that.

“Excuse me,” Clint said, his voice faint. “Excuse me. Did you say-”

“No. She didn't,” Phil said, glaring at his mother.

Her eyebrows arched. “Oh, dear,” she said, with a faint, sweet smile, a completely put on smile, a completely fake smile that spoke of retribution and revenge and a wealth of comeuppance, “did you not know? Oh, dear, Phil, you should have-”

“No, I shouldn't have,” Phil said,and it was very, very close to a snap.

“Did you say 'juvie record?'” Clint managed. He looked like he was having a stroke. He clutched his forehead. “Wait. Did you-” 

“No. She didn't,” Phil said.

“You have a juvie record?” Clint asked, his voice beatific, his eyes huge.

“I don't-”

“I am so turned on right now,” Clint said, making Shirley laugh. “I am not going to apologize for that,” he told her.

“And neither should you,” she said, her voice firm. She folded her hands on her lap. “A good sex life is important for-”

“Mom, really?” Phil said, groaning.

“Philip,” she said, her voice taking on a certain steel core that he knew so well, “you must understand. This is entirely your own fault. Had you just been honest with everyone involved with this situation, we would not be in this position. I would've had years of Christmas dinners, Thanksgivings, birthdays, meet-ups and getaways to share all the family gossip. For heaven's sake, Phil, you actually chose a man who has the clearance to hear the family gossip.” 

She took one step forward, face to face with Phil, her chin up, her eyes narrowed. “Instead, I have been left to seethe about the situation for years. Years, Philip, this has been going on for years. And worse than that, I was left to seethe every time you were hurt in the line of duty. Every time you went missing. Every time I had to wonder where you were and what you were doing, and then to get a call from you about your supposed occupation, well, that was just an insult. 

“And mostly? I was left to seethe when I had to call in some very old favors to contact Director Fury to find out what had happened to you during the Chitauri invasion. I was left to seethe without being able to sit with my son as he died, because you couldn't be bothered to tell me what you did for a living. I was left to seethe when I had to choke on that ridiculous cover story, really, Philip, really? Exposure to alien tech? How did you even keep a straight face when you had to parrot that?”

She took a deep breath, slow and careful, composing herself. “So, son of mine, if I want to tell Clint, in excruciating detail, about your arrest record, and it is an extensive arrest record, well, then, that is entirely my prerogative. Isn't it.” It wasn't a question.

Phil studied her without flinching. It took a lot of effort. “I'm not going to win this one, am I?” he said.

“You,” Shirley said, her voice gentle, “are going to take your father, and your nephews, who adore you beyond all reason, and you are going to take them out into the city. I will be remaining here. With Clint. And my photo albums.” Her smile was as sweet as spun sugar. “And your paperwork. All of your paperwork.”

“Just so we're clear, ma'am,” Clint said, “I want to have your babies.”

“That's very sweet, Clint,” she said without missing a beat, “but I'm too old to raise another one like him.” 

“You're really supposed to be on my side,” Phil said to Clint. He didn't really believe it, but he felt a token protest was in order.

“Phil, you should be grateful that I'm not going to leave you for your mother at this point,” Clint said, grinning. “I'm sorry.” He held up his hands, gesturing at Shirley. “Your mom. Just saying. Your mom.”

“Thank you, dear,” Shirley said, patting him on the shoulder. She smiled at Phil. “Go. We'll meet up for dinner somewhere, how's that?”

Phil considered her. “You talked to Fury?”

Her smile died. “I love you, Phil,” she said. She reached up and cupped his face between her palms. “I love you, very, very much. I would move hell and earth to find you.” Her grin was quick and impish. “Even taking that into account, Nick Fury was a moderate challenge.”

“He should be proud of that.” Phil paused. “I'm sorry.”

“You should be.” She gave him a quick hug. “Now, apologize to Clint, and go find your father before he ends up with a welding torch and the guts of your plane all over the place.”

“It wouldn't take much encouragement to get Tony to spend the day disassembling something,” Phil agreed. He wrapped his arms around his mother and held on, just for a moment. “Mom?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Why didn't you say anything?”

She sighed, the sort of long-suffering sigh that Phil had heard his entire life. “Why,” she said, her voice gentle, “didn't you?”

He nodded. “I didn't want you to worry,” he said.

“I'm your mother, Phil. I will always worry.” She kissed his cheek. “Say good-bye, Phil, and go entertain your nephews.”

Phil glanced at Clint. “Promise you'll still love me when she gets done humiliating me.”

“You have a juvie record,” Clint said. “I didn't think it was possible, but I think I'll love you more.” Phil's mother headed for the elevator, chuckling under her breath, and Clint slipped a hand around his waist. “You okay with this?” he asked in an undertone.

Phil leaned his forehead against Clint's. “I think this is my penance,” he said.

“No, spending the day at Coney Island with Thor is your penance,” Clint said, and Phil groaned. Clint patted him lightly on the back. “I'm just going to stay here. With your mother. And her copious scrapbooks.”

“I'm in hell,” Phil said.

“I think that comes later,” Clint said, and his grin was somewhat unholy. Phil was pretty sure that it wasn't supposed to be a turn on.

He was also pretty sure he didn't care any more.

*

Bruce wasn't sure why he stopped. He didn't know why the girl caught his eye. It was probably because she looked so out of place in the high tech, high shine lobby of Stark Tower. And because she didn't seem to be aware of just how out of place she was. Bruce felt his steps slow, his body coming to a gradual halt, halfway across the lobby floor, the coffee he'd gone out looking for held up halfway to his mouth.

The girl was gangly and awkward, even from this distance, long legs and long arms, but she hadn't figured out what to do with them. Her face was mostly hidden by a battered bucket hat, and her feet were propped up on a battered, army surplus backpack that looked like it weighed as much as she did. Her bright turquise Converse canvas shoes clashed with the pink and orange socks that showed above the folded over tops. 

As Bruce watched, she lifted up her head, peeking out from under the brim of her hat. Her glasses matched her shoes, narrow rectangles that framed her eyes. She stopped texting on her phone and held it up. She made a face at the phone's display, sticking her lower jaw out so her teeth poked out from below her upper lip, and crossing her eyes. Giggling, she scrunched back down, her long black jacket rucked up around her hips on the chair.

The word “COULSON” was stenciled in neat letters on the side of the backpack.

Bruce kept an eye on the girl as he crossed over to the security desk. “Hey, Todd,” he said to the guard on duty, who looked up at his approach.

“Hi, Dr. Banner. How's it going?”

“Still breathing,” Bruce said with a smile.

Todd chuckled. “That's good.”

“Better than the alternative,” Bruce said. He nodded towards the girl. “What's her story?”

Todd's head craned up. “Oh. Her, yeah. She was looking for Agent Coulson.” He sat back, shaking his head. “I mean, we get the fans sometimes, and most of 'em go away after a bit, or we escort them outside the building, but she just wanted to sit and wait until we could get a message to him.” He shrugged. “We were a little wary about that bag of hers, but it passed the scans with no problem, and she's been sititng quietlysince we told her that Agent Coulson wasn't available to speak to her.”

“He's out of the building at the moment?” Bruce fumbled in his pocket for his phone, checking the time. “Tell you what, I'll go talk to her, I think I know what her story is.”

“You sure?” Todd looked doubtful. “Want backup?”

“I think I can handle her on my own,” Bruce said, amused. “But I'll give a shout if I need you.”

“Okay, Doc!”

With a wave, Bruce crossed the lobby, doing his best to avoid the flow of office workers and visitors. A few, recognizing him, gave him a nod and a smile, and he returned the gesture. It was still strange, to feel like he was becoming part of a community, but it wasn't a bad thing, by any means.

It was just weird.

He stopped a few steps away from the girl, not wanting to starle her. “Hello?” he said, and her head came up from her phone.

She blinked up at him, and she had Phil's eyes, that odd, clear blue gray behind her cheerful frames. For an instant, she just blinked, big eyes over the too sharp blade of her nose, and then she grinned. Just like that, her face lit up and Bruce couldn't stop himself from smiling back. She got to her feet, a little clumsy about it, her feet tangling with the straps of her bag. She had to hop a bit to get her balance again, and then when she did, she drew herself up, her grin still firmly in place.

“Hello!” she said, shoving a hand out in Bruce's direction. “I'm Mary Margaret Davis. I'm so pleased to meet you, Dr. Banner.”

Charmed despite himself, Bruce took her hand. “I'm pleased to meet you, too,” he said, as she shook his hand with enough enthusiasm to threaten to rattle his shoulder from its socket. “You're-”

“Phil Coulson's my uncle,” she said, plopping back down. Her toes squeeked on the marble floor as her knees angled in and her shoes angled out. She braced her hands on the edge of the seat between her knees, leaning forward. “My dopey brothers got to come out yesterday.”

Bruce studied her. “How did you get here?” he asked. He looked around, but there was no one heading in their direction, wondering about the weird, grubby looking man in the labcoat talking to their daughter. “I thought your grandmother said that you'd be coming in with your parents?”

Mary Margaret took a deep breath. “Yeah, that's... Stuff happened,” she said. One hand flicked up, pushing her hat back onto the crown of her head. Dark hair spilled out around her forehead, cut short around her face. “SO,” she said. “I had school, and mom had work, and dad had a meeting. And so I left school, and I got texts from both of them telling me to catch a cab to the airport, because, you know, running late, which happens?” Her head tipped in Bruce's direction, her eyes peeking over the tops of her glasses. “In my family, it happens a lot. Like, a LOT. So I got a cab, and I went in to the airport, because you know, I had my stuff already, and I had my passport for checking into the flight, and I told the airline rep that my parents were on the way but I get really anxious and so it would be so much better for me if I could check in and have my ticket, you know, because that would put me at ease.”

She stopped, and Bruce realized she was waiting for some reply. “Makes sense,” he said, even though it really didn't, but that was apparently acceptable, because she started up again.

“So I pulled the same scam on security, okay, shouldn't call it a scam because it's not even a lie, I do get anxious it's just in how you sell it, and dad hates it when I do that, but do you know that the same process for pulling a scam is totally useful for anything else you want to do? It's like, getting people to do what you want, and it helps that I'm part of the population that adults consider A. to be stupid, and B. completely harmless. Like, if someone's asking you a difficult question or something, all you have to do is talking about how awesome Justin Bieber is and most people's eyes glaze over and they wave you through, it's great.” She took a deep breath, and Bruce caught himself inhaling along with her.

“Then I got to the boarding area, and my mom apparently thought my father had gotten there and my dad apparently thought my mother had gotten there, because they were both texting me that they weren't going to make the flight and I should just go on ahead and they'd see me later on tonight.” She paused. “So I got on the flight.”

Bruce stared at her. “Do your parents not know you-” His head jerked around. “How did you get here?”

“Subway,” she said. “Well, Airtrain to subway and then a lot of walking.” She kicked her feet. “Don't worry. I texted my mom. But wasn't going to wait around for one of them to get done, because I'd still be sitting there, with cobwebs forming, until Grandma and Grandpa brought my brothers HOME.” Her lower lip poked out in a pout. 

He really had no idea what to say to that. He didn't. Bruce's mouth opened, and closed. “Your grandmother's upstairs, you know that, don't you?” he asked.

“I figured she might be.”

“Did you... Did you call her?”

Mary Margaret made a face. “Oh, heck no. Sorry, but no. No, no, no.” She spread her hands wide. “I'll see my grandmother when I can do it while using Uncle Phil as a human shield. He's really awesome that way.”

“As a human shield?”

“Totally.” She grinned up at him, and there were the faintest dusting of freckles over her nose. 

“I don't think you should stay here,” Bruce said. 

“Oh, I'm fine. I have my homework, and my phone, and like twelve hours of podcasts.” Her chin dipped in a sharp little nod. “I promise, won't get in the way or anything.”

Bruce couldn't quite hold back a smile. “Okay,” he said. “I'll just call Coulson and let him know that you're sitting here in the lobby. I'm sure he'll be fine with that. Right?”

Her mouth opened. Closed. “Okay, well played,” she said, scrambling to her feet. “I mean, I'd call your bluff, because no one likes to deal with Uncle Phil in a snit, but I'd still get the worst of it, so yeah.”

“Probably. Can I, can I help you with that?” Bruce asked, as Mary Margaret kicked her backpack around and snagged one strap in the crook of her elbow.

“No, I got it, it's-” The movement was smooth and practiced, and in a moment, she was straightening up, her arms securely in the straps. “It's fine.”

“Impressive,” Bruce said, and she laughed.

“Yeah, not so much. I'm kind of a lightweight in my troop, I can't even manage long distance hiking with my gear, but this isn't so bad. I didn't have to carry food, at least.” Bruce waited until she found her balance before he headed for the banks of elevators. She bounced along in his wake, her sneakers squeeking on the floor. “I really enjoyed your paper,” she said. “The one on Compton scattering and improving gamma radiation shielding.”

Bruce paused in the act of swiping his keycard. “Ah, thank you,” he said, a bit startled. “Did you, I mean, did you understand that?”

“Not very much,” Mary Margaret said, apparently unbothered by that. She rocked up on her toes, the weight of her backpack pushing her forward and pulling her back. “I enjoyed it. But I didn't really understand it. I mean, I tried. I understood more of it by the end than I had at the beginning.” She tipped her head in Bruce's direction. “My friend Ronnie, she tried to explain some of it to me, but it's been pretty slow going. I'll get it, though. I'm stubborn.

“And the thing is,” she said as they got onto the elevator, “I really like science. It's cool, you know? And the fact that I'm not particularly good at it, I think that makes me like it more. Because if I understood all this stuff, the way that Ronnie does, she's so much smarter than me, it's great, she's going to change the world someday, you watch and see, but if I understood it the way she did, I don't think that I'd love it so much. I have to spend so much time staring at it that it makes it really fascinating, you know what I mean?”

Bruce was about to say no, and then he paused. “I think I do,” he said.

“The more you look, the more you see,” Mary Margaret said. “And I have to look hard sometimes, really.” She looked up at the elevator's number panel. “Before we get upstairs, I gotta ask if you'll answer some questions fo my Girl Scout newsletter? We publish it once a quarter, and I'll say that I emailed you and maybe you replied to me, you know? But we're pushing really hard for the STEM focus this quarter, and it would be awesome if you could. It's fine if you can't, or don't want to, that's really fine, but if you could do me a huge favor and not tell Grandma I asked?” She gave him a broad grin, and Bruce started laughing.

“Let me guess,” he said, his tone wry, “you weren't supposed to ask me.”

“She will kill me. She will kill me dead, Dr. Banner. With her laser vision,” Mary Margaret said. 

“With her laser vision?”

“Do not mock, Dr. Banner. You have obviously not gotten on the wrong side of my grandma. She will make you regret sins you haven't even considered doing yet, with one look.” She gave Bruce a narrow eyed look, her mouth pursed up tight.

“I have not been, not just yet,” Bruce said. He hid his smile behind his coffee cup. “Tell you what, I'll answer your questions, but maybe I can give Dr. Foster a call. I bet she'd be happy to talk to you, too. And I think that since it's the Girl Scouts, that might be better. For you and your newsletter.”

Mary Margaret grinned at him. “Oh, that would be awesome! Thank you!”

The elevator came to a stop. “Hey, Jarvis,” Bruce said, as the door opened. “This is Mary Margaret Davis, she's going to be out guest for the next couple of days.”

“Of course. Good day, Ms. Davis. We are pleased to have you here.”

Mary Margaret gaped up at the ceiling. “You guys have a robot butler?”

Bruce bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. “Jarvis is an advanced AI who runs everything around here.”

“Oh, sorry, was that- Was that rude?” Mary Margaret asked. “I'm sorry, I've never met an AI.”

“Not at all, Miss. I do my best to serve, and I am a robot, of a sort, so your designation was perfectly acceptable. I do appreciate your apology, however. It was very well done of you.”

“So Uncle Phil was living here? With, like, penthouse views of New York and an AI who runs stuff and dating a super hero?”

“I guess that's the cliff notes version, yes,” Bruce said.

“Oh, my God, I will kill him, I cannot believe he-” She stopped, making a strangled noise. “I will kick him in the shins so hard.”

“That's a bit harsh, isn't it?” Bruce said.

“AI. BUTLER.”

Bruce chuckled. “Wait until you meet the toaster.”


End file.
